Blood and Hellfire
by Supernoodle
Summary: Set post AHBL2. Sam is so busy searching for a way to break the deal and save his brother, he isn't there for Dean when Dean needs him the most. Major Hurt!Dean, Angst ridden Sam. Not for the squeamish. Feedback equals love and frequent updates.
1. Chapter 1

_**Ok, spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose 2 – But surely everyone has seen it?**_

_**This started off in my strange little head as plot less Dean whumpage and just grew from there. Beware; it's not for the squeamish. **_

_**As with all my other stories, unfortunately I don't own Sam, Dean or anything else you might recognise – I just own the order the words are written in.**_

_**Enjoy,**_

_**Supernoodle x – 29**__**th**__** October 2007**_

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Blood and Hellfire**

**By Supernoodle **

-o- 

Blood.

There was so much blood.

The smell of it filled his nostrils with hot copper and it made his stomach clench with nausea. It was too much - too much for Dean to lose and still be ok.

"Hold on, Dude. Okay… Just hold on." Sam yelled at his brother. His free hand reaching over, fingers wrapping around the fabric of his brother's shirt, and he pressed the gas pedal down to the floor, the Impala's tyres skidding wildly on the wet blacktop.

Dean stared straight ahead, jaw set, his eyes not leaving the road. If he let them wander, he might look down at the blood pumping from his throat, and he couldn't let himself go there. He could feel it running through the towel he had pressed to the wound, through his fingers, down his wrists. It was soaking through his shirt in a hot, wet stain. If he looked, he might lose it and it was only the strange detachment that he was feeling, the inability of his mind to accept that fact that he was bleeding out all over the passenger seat of his car that was keeping him alive.

**-o-**

Of all the things Dean Winchester had thought would be the end of him, a bar fight sure wasn't one of them.

So he'd looked at some guy's chick? It had only been a fleeting glance; he had been trying to ignore her and the fact that she'd been checking him out all night. She looked like Britney Spears, only more Britney the Elvis years than Britney Hit-me-one-more-time and although he had been trying desperately hard not to look her way, he was pretty sure that she wasn't wearing any panties.

_I always get the classy ones,_ Dean reflected. Fighting the urge to take the Impala's ignition key from his pocket and gouge his own eyes out.

Despite the view, Dean had been enjoying himself - buzzing on half a dozen beers and enjoying the down time with his brother. But Sam, as usual, had been oblivious to mostly everything going on around him. A new addition to Sam's personality that Dean was quickly losing patience with. Every time he went away, Sam started tapping away on the laptop, slamming it shut every time he came near, every time he left the room, Sam was on his cell phone, whispering secret plots down the line to someone he strongly suspected was Bobby.

He'd given up trying to have an actual conversation with his pre-occupied little brother and left him to take a leak. Not noticing that Britney's wired looking boyfriend had followed him into the bathroom.

Sam had been busy with his nose in the laptop as usual with his desperate hunt for a way out of Dean's deal, searching for a way to save his brother, as Britney's boyfriend had calmly jabbed Dean in the neck with the beer bottle he had just broken over his skull.

Then laving Dean on the floor, the guy calmly left the bathroom and walked out of the bar, dragging Britney with him.

Sam didn't even notice anything was wrong, didn't notice that Dean was taking far too long, until he came staggering out of the john with blood trailing behind him like a stream and even then it was only the horrified cry of the waitress that made him look up.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam peered through the windshield. It was a rainy night, the sky black and moonless and they were far far away from anywhere. They had been in small town just outside Barstow, California for the past few days, following the trail of one of the Hell Gate demons – a nasty S.O.B as Bobby had described it and he had been right. They had used up pretty much all their holy water stores and a huge sack of rock salt on the job and needing to relax after a trying couple of days, Dean decided they should go and hit a bar.

He had heard that the joint, a rough and ready kind of place about 10 miles out of town, had a jukebox full of 70's rock and served a decent Hamburger. After the few days they'd just had, it had sounded like heaven.

Two grease soaked burgers with extra onions, six beers and seven victorious games of pool later, Dean was feeling pretty chilled. Freebird was belting out of the juke and for once, all seemed pretty ok with the world. In fact, the only thing still jerking his chain was his brother. Sam had not left his damn laptop alone in weeks, it was on day and night and whatever they started having a conversation about, somehow it always got turned back to talk of the deal.

The Goddamn deal.

Sam just didn't seem to get it. The deal was done, sealed with a kiss, there was no backing out. Even if by some chance Sam found a way, Dean wasn't going to take it.

_If you try to weasel your way out, Sam drops dead._ That's what the red-eyed bitch had told him and there was no way he was going to let that happen again.

He had given his life willingly and would do it again in a heartbeat. Sure, he would have preferred a few more years, but beggars can't be choosers – and he had begged. If Sam wasn't alive, he didn't want to live either, simple as that. And anyway, he was just repaying the debt he owed his Dad, restoring the natural order of things.

Sam and Bobby just couldn't seem to get it through their thick skulls, and they were meant to be the clever ones.

**-o-**

It hadn't hurt that much at the time; Dean was more concerned with the whack over the head that had him seeing stars and dropped him to his knees.

He didn't lose consciousness, but he had to fight to keep it as everything around him spun momentarily out of focus, and it took him a while to register that the spattering noise and the wetness pooling around his knees on the dark tiled floor was his own blood. Taking his hands from the back of his head, he put them to the stinging pain in his throat and gasped in shock when they came away completely red.

"Oh crap." He murmured under his breath. "Crap, crap, crap." This was not good. Really, really not good.

Clamping his right hand firmly over where he approximated the wound in his throat was, wincing at the pain that followed, Dean grabbed the sink with the other hand, leaving a bloody smear on the white porcelain, and then he dragged himself to his feet, fighting the dizziness that threatened to take him down again. If he went down, he knew he wasn't getting up again and there was no way he was going to bleed to death in a freakin' toilet. He still had eight months left – Eight short, precious months until his debt was due and there was no way some white-trash trailer park hick was going to steal those months from him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's head snapped up hearing the girl's scream and immediately looked round for his brother, hand curling into fists as adrenaline shot through his system. It was a natural reaction, the fight or flight response in overdrive – both Winchester boys automatically slipped into fight mode at the slightest hint of danger in the air. Just another part of their Father's legacy.

Dean was stumbling unsteadily towards the bar, one hand groping for purchase on the tables, trying to keep himself upright, as the other remained tightly pressed to his throat. And there was blood – so much blood. It covered the front of his shirt, his jeans, all over his hands and arms. He looked like he'd stepped straight off the screen of a horror movie.

"Dean… Oh God, _Dean?"_ Sam cried, sliding out of the booth. His beer bottle tipped over, spilling his barely touched Bud Lite all over the tabletop before it rolled off the edge of the tabletop and smashed on the hard wood below, spilling the beer all over the floor. Sam never even noticed it.

"Sam?" Dean yelled. Black spots had begun to dance in front of his eyes and his hand, slick with blood, slid across the table he was trying to hang on too, dropping him to one knee. He closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth against the nausea and dizziness that swept through him. "Sammy?" He gasped, rocking unsteadily back on his knees.

Blinking furiously to try to clear his vision, Dean blindly grabbed for something to hang on to before collapsing backwards but Sam had him in his arms before he hit the ground and he gently lowered his brother to the floor.

Dean opened his eyes and peered up at Sam's frightened face. Half a dozen other concerned faces appeared behind his brother's and he sighed. _Great, now I have an audience_.

He gave his brother a crooked smile. "Is this what I gotta do to get you to take notice of me now, Sam?"

**-o-**

"I called an ambulance, Son." The bartender told Sam, handing him a clean damp bar towel. "But I think they are going to be a while... Been a big crash down towards Henrick's Farm."

Sam nodded. He had no idea where Henrick's farm was but understood what the guy was trying to tell him - that there was no guarantee that the ambulance was going to get to them in time, and taking the towel, he quickly folded it up and turned back to Dean who was laid out on the floor. His head was resting on Sam's jacket and the pretty blonde waitress was gently stroking his hair, whispering small words of encouragement to him. She seemed genuinely worried and the sight of someone actually showing concern for his brother's wellbeing touched Sam. Apart from himself, there weren't many people left in the world that cared whether Dean Winchester lived or died.

"Dean, let go of your neck. I need to put pressure on it. I gotta try and stop the bleeding." Sam told his brother.

"Nuh uh…" Dean replied, frowning. "I don't want to let go, Sam. I'm kinda running on empty here..."

Sam glanced up at the waitress whose worried face mirrored his own. He was trying to ignore Dean's usual attempt at humour. Whenever his brother got hurt, he tried to laugh it off, hide his pain behind a smile and a joke. Anything to keep anyone, especially Sam, from getting in. But Sam didn't buy it anymore – he had seen his brother hurt too many times. It wasn't funny anymore. Nothing was funny anymore. One way or the other, Dean was going to die before his time and Sam was struggling with this fact – really struggling. "Can you hold my brother's head still for me?"

"Um, yeah... Of course." The waitress replied, nodding, and she placed her hands either side of Dean's face, biting her bottom lip anxiously.

"No, Sam. _Don't_!" Dean growled, knowing what Sam was about to do. He tried to grab his brother's arm to stop him, but Sam easily batted his hand away and grim-faced, he forcibly prised Dean's other hand away from his throat. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in a frightening gout and Dean let out a cry of pain through gritted teeth and screwed his eyes shut as Sam pressed the towel firmly down.

"I'm sorry, man." Sam sighed kneeling over his brother, keeping his hands firmly over the towel.

Dean cracked opened his eyelids and swallowed dryly. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool and he clamped his shaking hands back to his throat. Underneath, he could feel that Sam's hands were shaking just as badly as his own.

"Dude, this is bad, isn't it?" Dean murmured, blinking owlishly. The dark spots in front of his eyes were quickly joining up and he could only see half of the waitress's face above him. She was pretty, in a small town kind of way, and under any other circumstances Dean thought he might have been hitting on her right about now. "You have a brother?" He asked her instead. "Or a sister?"

The waitress shook her head. She looked terrified. "Only child."

Dean muttered something inaudible in reply and closed his eyes, hands slipping from his throat.

"No Dude, wake up!" Sam yelled. Dean looked dreadful - The smudges of blood on his face standing out in stark contrast to the deathly whiteness of his skin. He was going into shock and Sam knew he wasn't going to make it if they waited around for much longer. "Don't go to sleep. You gotta stay with me, ok?"

"I'm not asleep." Dean groaned, forcing his eyes open again. "And don't yell at me, Bitch. My head hurts!"

"Jerk!" Sam replied automatically, and he looked up at the Bartender. His smile disappearing as quickly as it came. "You think you could help me get him to our car?"


	4. Chapter 4

"The hospital is just up the road, just another couple of miles." Sam told his brother, shaking him roughly. "You need to keep your eyes open and talk to me, ok!"

"They are open, Sam." Dean replied, frowning. He knew this for a fact because all he wanted to do was close them. His head was pounding and he just needed to rest, just for a minute.

Since Sam and the Bartender had managed to bundle Dean into the passenger seat of the car, he had slumped down the seat and his head was now resting against the cold glass of the side window, his shallow breath fogging white against the glass like tiny ghosts.

"No, Dean - Your eyes are closed, man. Open your eyes and talk to me." Sam yelled.

Dean cracked open his eyelids and glanced irritably over at his brother. "So you want to talk to me now, Sam?"

"What?" Sam replied. He was sitting forward, his eyes scanning the dark road for a road sign. The road was badly lit and seemed to be entirely un-marked. The bar had been way out past Calico ghost town and the bartender had told Sam to go back into Barstow, the hospital was apparently on South 7th Avenue, right by the city park - no more than half an hour's drive. _He'll be dead in half an hour! _Sam had thought to himself and had quickly pushed the thought from his brain. Dean was strong and fit... He was damn near invincible. The times he had seen his brother hurt bad. The electrocution, the crash… Dean had come back from all of it, good as new.

_He's going to die in eight months time though, Sammy. And you haven't found one damn way to stop it happening this time…_

Sam quickly pushed that thought from his brain too and glanced at his brother. Dean was looking at him, glassy eyed, his face creased in pain, deathly pale in the weak illumination from the Impala's dashboard. He looked like he was dead already. A hollowed out shell – a mere outline of the man he once was. He also looked pissed.

"You sure you don't want to stop somewhere and Google me a cure for a stab wound to the throat on your laptop?"

Sam frowned, tearing his eyes away from his brother and back to the road. There had to be a sign to lead them back to the highway soon? "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Nothing…" Dean replied, and with a grimace of pain and effort and he leant forwards and switched on the radio. 'In the End' by Linking Park blared out of the speakers and Dean smirked humourlessly, slumping back into the seat. The towel he still had pressed to the wound was now saturated with blood and it was running freely down his arm. Plus every time he moved his head, the little black dots that were hovering around his peripheral vision began to join up again, and Dean knew from experience that black dots in front of the eyes were never a good thing. Generally, they lead to unconsciousness, and unconsciousness would lead to letting go of the pressure on his throat, which in turn would lead to lots more bleeding and lots more bleeding would pretty much lead to death.

Sam switched the music off and looked at his brother in confusion. "Dude? I know you are hurting, and I'm trying my hardest to get you some help, but why are you pissed at _me_?"

Dean was looking at him like he had that time at the old asylum; Sam had blasted his brother's chest full of rock salt and tried to shoot him with Dean's own thankfully unloaded Smith and Wesson. All the while telling him how much he hated him, how much he despised him, how pathetic he was. After it was all over, Sam had been desperate to talk it through with his brother, he hadn't been possessed, but he had meant any of it either and the hurt he had seen in Dean's eyes, the betrayal… He knew that Dean, despite his insistence to the contrary, had never forgotten any of it.

"When you were growing up I stood in between you and Dad every fight you ever had, took your side, defended you - even if it meant that Dad wouldn't speak to me for days." Dean said quietly. He was looking straight ahead at the dark road again, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at his brother.

"You know, when you went to college, Dad didn't speak to me for over a week. He completely blanked me – not one word. It was like I didn't exist."

Sam was silent, eyes fixed on the road, mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at his brother either. He knew it had been difficult for Dean, he had always been piggy-in-the-middle between him and their Dad, and Sam knew how hard their Dad had been on Dean sometimes. He could well believe that John had blamed Dean when he'd left for college. John Winchester had been a vengeful man, and not all of that vengeance had always been directed at the evil that they hunted.

"I've always been there for you, always. No matter what. I've always had your back. I would never let anything happen to you… Never!"

Sam glanced back at his brother. "I know, Dean. I get it, ok… You sold your soul for me. I know you did that. I wish to hell you hadn't, man. I would give anything to get you out of that deal. I'm trying, I really am..."

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, chuckling mirthlessly. It sounded more like a choked back sob. "No Sammy, you don't get it. You never do. I've got eight freakin' months left – eight months. All I want to do is hang out with you. Make the most of the time I got left. Have a good time. My whole life has been about the job, man. And now my life is almost over, you know?"

Sam did know and he felt hot tears prick his eyes, blurring the dark road ahead. Dean was right – he'd never had anything for himself. The only life he'd ever had was hunting, the only home he'd ever had since he was four years old was the Impala, the happy family he'd once been a part of had been burned up, reduced to ashes, and all he had left was Sam.

Dean was silent for a moment and Sam could hear his quick, shallow breathing above the baritone purr of the Impala's engine. He didn't sound good.

"Dean. Please don't..." Sam began. He wanted Dean to calm down, he wanted him to lie back against the seat and not get all worked up. He was going to lose more blood and he really couldn't afford to. "We can talk about this later, okay."

"No, Sam. No!" Dean snapped in reply. Pulling himself upright, pressing the towel more tightly to the wound. Everything had begun to spin again and nausea rolled in his belly. He was in big trouble his time and he knew it.

"Just listen to me, for once in your life. I have eight months to live, and for some unknown reason I want to spend it with my annoying little brother. Only my annoying little brother has barely spoken to me in weeks. Every time I try to talk to him, he has his nose in his goddamn laptop computer – every time I want to go out and have a good time, he wants to stay in and do research, try to change something that can't be changed. When some freakin' Steve Buscemi-a-like tries to kill me in a bar, my brother is too busy surfing the web to notice. You don't listen to me, you don't talk to me, and you don't have my back, Sam. I only have you. Only you. And you're not even there any more." Dean took a hitching breath, his shaking hand grabbing the door of the car. What little colour he had left in his face had just disappeared and his next words were barely more than hoarse gasps. "You can stop the damn car, because I might as well let that red-eyed bitch call up her hellhounds and take me right now!"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words. What could he say? Dean was right. He should have been watching his back – His brother wouldn't ever have let some guy get the jump on him, not ever. "Oh God, Dean… I'm so sorry." He choked out. The tears that had been threatening to fall slipped down his cheeks unhindered and he reached out to take his brother's hand, ignoring Dean's strict no chic-flick rule. He needed his brother, needed to feel that he was still with him, that he was still there. Terror stabbing into his heart like an icy knife, almost robbing him of his breath.

_Eight months, he'll be gone in eight months, eight months isn't long enough…_

But Dean's hand was cold and laying limply in the seat, blood trickling down the wrist, in between his fingers and disappearing down the creases of the car's ancient leather seats. It wasn't the first time the Impala had been given an offering of her owner's blood.

"Dean, wake up!" Sam yelled, grabbing Dean's wrist and shaking him. His brother was slumped against the passenger door again and responded with nothing but a breathy moan of pain. "Please Dean, don't do this to me! Please..."

But Dean didn't hear Sam yelling his name, didn't hear the engine roaring as Sam put his foot down or the screech of the tires on the wet blacktop - in fact the only thing he _could_ hear now was something that sounded suspiciously like the distant roar of fire.

_Oh crap_, he thought absently to himself once more as he descended into darkness. _Crap-crap-crap…_


	5. Chapter 5

Dean came to just after the Impala pulled into the hospital car park. Sam had shaken him and shouted his name, dragging him back from the blackness that he had been drifting in. His eyes felt heavy, his vision blurred - everything around him shifting and swirling, making him feel seasick. His heart raced a mile-a-minute and his head was pounding like a John Bonham drum solo. It was like being the worst kind of stoned.

"Leave'm alone, Sammy..." He gasped. Mouth so dry he could barely swallow. He tried to push Sam away - semi-conscious or not, Dean couldn't stand being fussed over, especially by his little brother - but he wasn't strong enough to put up much of a fight.

"I can't leave you alone, Dean. You're hurt. We're at the hospital."

"Hospital?" Dean replied, blinking at his brother, trying to focus. Sam looked scared, which was never good thing. He blinked again and looked down, seeing the bloodstains on his clothes, on his hands, on the car seat. "_Damn_, Sammy. That's a _lot_ of blood."

"I know, Dean." Sam replied gently, trying to keep the panic out of his own voice. Dean was becoming disorientated, going into shock. He had to keep him calm. Picking up the blood-soaked towel he carefully pressed it back to the wound on Dean's throat again. "That's why we're at the hospital, because you're hurt. Now, you think you can walk?"

Dean frowned. _Of course he could walk! _And grasping for the door handle, he popped open the passenger seat door and began to climb unsteadily out of the car.

"No Dean, wait a second!" Sam yelled, backing his long limbs out of the front seat and running around the passenger side of the Impala just in time to catch Dean as his knees buckled under him. Grabbing his brother under the arm and around the waist, Sam held him upright and leaned him back against the car. "You okay, Dude?"

"M'dizzy… Dean replied shakily. His hands bunched into Sam's shirt, trying desperately to hold himself up but it was a fight he was quickly losing and Sam could see the vacant glassiness creeping in his brother's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam cried, shaking him gently. "Dean, just stay with me, just for a little while longer, okay?" And Dean tried to reply - tried really hard - but he couldn't quite get his lips to form the words. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the darkness that was hovering around the edge of his vision take him down.

He didn't even feel it when Sam hefted him onto his shoulders and headed towards the hospital.

**-o-  
**

It wasn't the first time that Sam had given his big brother a fireman's carry into a hospital.

It was, however, the first time that he'd been covered almost head to toe in Dean's blood while doing it.

It was everywhere - they looked like extras from a Romero flick, which was  
pretty fitting... Their lives were just one long horror movie.

"Can I get some help here?" Sam yelled frantically, looking round for a doctor or a nurse or someone, anyone, who could help his brother. He could feel Dean's blood tricking down his back, soaking into the waistband of his jeans and he was very close to throwing up. Sam was far from squeamish but he pretty sure that no-one should ever have to feel the sensation of their own brother's blood soaking through their clothes.

The only other time Sam had seen so much blood was when the yellow-eyed-demon had almost eviscerated Dean in the cabin in the woods. Cutting his brother open from the inside out and using their Dad's body to do it. Sam hadn't expected Dean to come back from that - there had been so much blood running from his chest, filling up his lungs, pouring from his mouth and yet he had struggled to stay conscious, had pleaded with Sam not to shoot their Dad, begged him not to kill him. But what had hurt Sam the most was that while Dean fought to stay awake, fought to stay alive, John had lamented the fact that Sam had wasted one of the Colt's magic bullets by shooting him in the thigh instead of the heart. Their Father had told Sam how the only thing that mattered was killing the demon – told him everything came second to that.

Sam had looked in the rear view mirror as he drove his broken family to the nearest hospital and had seen his brother slumped in agony in the back seat, somehow still clinging to consciousness, still clinging to life. He knew that Dean could hear it all, knew that John's words were cutting into him as deeply as the demon had and Sam had hated his Dad then for saying those things. Hated him for what he'd done to Dean.

"Sir? Come with me." An urgent voice called from behind Sam and he turned round to see a doctor striding towards him.

"My brother…" Sam panted desperately. The metallic smell of Dean's blood was becoming unbearable and he wasn't sure how much more he could take before he screamed, puked, or passed out.

"Its okay, Sir." The doctor replied. He was an Asian guy in his early 40s who, Sam thought absently, looked quite a lot like Mr Sulu from Star Trek. Something that would have amused Dean no-end had he not been bleeding to death across Sam's shoulders.

"We'll help him." Sulu told Sam, and suddenly there was a flurry of nurses and orderlies surrounding them and before he knew it, Dean was being wheeled away on a gurney leaving Sam standing bloody and alone in the hospital foyer.

_Alone._

It was something he guessed he should get used too.


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Right everyone - sorry it's taken me so long to update this story. What can I say? I'm easily distracted by shiny drabble challenges. Hope it was worth the wait._**

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"Mr, uh - Nugent?" the doctor who appeared in the doorway of the relative's room asked and Sam looked up. He couldn't remember the name on the insurance card that he'd given the girl at the desk, but he was the only one in the room. It wasn't Sulu, this time, this doctor was wearing green scrubs, a surgeon – Dean's surgeon – and Sam got to his feet.

"My brother - how is he? Did the surgery go okay? Is he going to be alright?"

The surgeon, a young blond guy about the same age as Dean smiled at Sam's onslaught of questions. "He's out of surgery and it went well, he's in recovery right now and as soon as he's completely stable we will be moving him to a room."

Sam frowned. "As soon as he's stable?"

The surgeon motioned for Sam to sit back down and he joined him on the seat beside him. "Mr Nugent – your brother lost a huge volume of blood and we had to transfuse quite a few units. Now we managed to repair the injury to his throat – he was very lucky, most of the lacerations were superficial, only one of the major vessels was actually damaged and we were able to stop the bleeding and fix the injury. Should only leave minimal scarring as well. Unfortunately, he seems to be having a reaction to the anaesthesia, he's blood pressure is pretty low and he's suffering quite severe nausea, both of which we are treating with medication, he's also having trouble regulating his body temperature."

Sam sighed, as if Dean hadn't been through enough that night. "Can I see him?"

The surgeon glanced up at the clock at the wall and looked back at Sam. "It's nearly two am, Mr Nugent. Why don't you go home and come back in the morning? Your brother needs to rest and I'm sure he'll be much happier in the morning."

Sam shook his head. "Doctor, you don't know my brother, the only thing that'll make him feel better will be if I'm there with him. He's kind of overprotective."

The doctor smiled, "And I'm guessing that runs in the family?"

Sam shrugged. "Seriously, Doctor. Please let me see him. I need to talk to him. We kind of had a fight earlier and if anything happened to him and I wasn't there - I'd never forgive myself." Sam was going for the sympathy vote, using his best guilty puppy dog expression – pulling out all the stops. He'd come so close to losing Dean tonight it wasn't even funny and he wanted to see him, needed to see him, just to make sure he was still there, still with him.

_Eight months left, Sammy. Eight freakin' months. _

The doctor frowned, then sighed and got to his feet. It seemed that no-one could resist '_the puppy'_. "Okay Mr Nugent. You can see your brother when he's out of recovery, but he'll be pretty groggy. He might not even know you're there."

"You don't know Dean, Doc." Sam replied, smiling and he followed the doctor out of the room.

-0-

Sam walked in the room to find Dean propped up in bed. His face was as pale as the sheets that he lay under, heavy circles under his eyes and a large white dressing was taped to his throat – and it had been a long time since Sam had seem his brother look so miserable.

Dean's eyes were screwed shut, but when Sam pulled up a chair, Dean cracked open one of them and gave Sam a feeble little smile.

"How you doing, Dean?" Sam asked his brother, giving Dean's wrist a quick squeeze – trying his best to avoid the Pulse Ox on his finger and the I.V line running from the back of his hand.

Dean took a shaky breath and sighed. "Been better, Sammy. M'cold - feel sick."

Sam frowned sympathetically. If Dean felt half as bad as he looked, then he was in trouble. "The Doctor said you feel sick cause of the anaesthesia. You're always sick after surgery. Remember when you broke your leg hunting that - that bear monster thing in Colorado?"

"Fun times." Dean replied, looking green at the memory. The Bear Monster thing had actually been a native America God spirit and it had thrown him down the side of a mountain. After the surgery to pin his shin bone back together, Dean had been unconscious for nearly two days and when he had finally woken up, he had spent the next day throwing up every hour on the hour.

"And remember when you had your wisdom teeth taken out a few years back - you were sick for hours when you came round."

"Sam." Dean murmured, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "You're not making me feel any better here, you know."

"Sorry. But they're giving you something for the nausea. I spoke to your surgeon."

"Yeah? Well it's not working." Dean grumbled and he closed his eyes again, sighing heavily. "I can't believe I got shanked by freakin' Cletus."

Sam looked sheepishly at his brother. To say he was feeling guilty was an understatement. He should have had Dean's back, but he hadn't – he realised that he hadn't had Dean's back for a long time. Everything Dean had said in the car had been true. He'd been so busy trying to save Dean that he'd almost let him die.

"Look, Dean. What happened in that bar tonight-"

Dean's eyes stayed closed. "I don't want to talk about it, Sam. I'm too tired."

"But Dean- "

"_Sam!"_ Dean warned.

"But- "

"_Jesus Sam!"_ Dean yelled, elbowing up and the bleeping of the heart monitor next to Dean's bed practically doubled in speed. "Just leave me the hell alone, okay."

Sam got to his feet, alarmed by how pale Dean had suddenly gone and the look in his eyes. It wasn't often that Dean reminded him of their Dad, but the expression he wore now was pure John Winchester – a dark mix of anger, disappointment and fear. "Hey, Dean. Calm down. I'll go okay."

Dean didn't answer, he just slumped back against his pillows and closed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry." Sam murmured, and reluctantly he got up and left.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Oooh, I can't wait for Season 5!**_

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Sam stood in the cold bathroom of the motel room, trying not to gag as he peeled the sticky, blood-soaked clothes off his back. He'd already scrubbed Dean's blood off his hands in the sink of the hospital bathroom as best he could while he waited for news of his brother's condition, but he was covered pretty much from head to foot still, and toeing off his shoes, he kicked his jeans and shirts into the corner of the room where he couldn't see them and turned on the hot tap of the shower.

The water that gushed out of the shower head was about five degrees too hot for comfort, but Sam climbed in anyway, the steam quickly filling the tiled room - obliterating everything - and he let the stinging jet of water hit his face, washing the blood away along with the tears that leaked barely noticed from the corners of his eyes.

_Eight months, eight months, eight months..._

He'd promised Dean that he would get him out of the deal. He'd sworn that he would, but try as he might, he'd found nothing. He and Bobby had been searching non-stop for the past four months, searching every source they could think of, every ancient text, spell or grimoire Bobby had ever heard of and had come up with precisely nada. He'd had a brief glimmer of hope after calling up the crossroads Demon, much to Dean's annoyance, but the bitch had had been a dead end and shooting her between the eyes hadn't made him feel any better – just more desperate.

"I'm not gonna let you go, Dean. Even if you want me to." He murmured under the water, resting his forehead against the grimy tiles of the shower. "You're not going to hell because of me."

-o-

"I don't know what to do, Bobby." Sam said quietly down the phone as he sat on the edge of his still made bed. It was now seven thirty am and Sam had given up trying to sleep two hours ago. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"_Of course you didn't, Sam. Dean knows that. He's just pissed and hurting. You know how he gets when he's sick or hurt or hell, even when he's overtired." _Bobby's voice told him, small and tinny down the end of the phone line.

"I don't know. You didn't see how he looked at me. He looked like he hated me."

A laugh came down out of the handset. _"Kid, Dean could never hate you. You know that."_

"But I let him down, Bobby. I really let him down. He could be dead now... There was so much blood."

Bobby was silent for a moment and Sam scrubbed at his face with his hand, trying to stifle a yawn. He was exhausted but too freaked out and worried to sleep. It had been a long _long_ night.

"_Look Sam. Just give him time – he'll cool off. And if he doesn't, I'll come down there and kick his ass myself."_

Sam smiled despite himself. "Thanks Bobby. I'll call you later and let you know how he's doing."

"_You do that Sam. Give him my best, okay."_

"K' Bobby. Bye." Sam replied and hung up his cell phone, throwing it on the bed behind him. Visiting hours began at 11 am and he knew he wasn't going to get any sleep in between now and then, so Sam decided that breakfast would at least kill some time and he threw on his jacket, picked up the Impala's keys from the bureau and headed out in search of pancakes.

-o-

"You know that Heart Disease is America's number one killer. Much more dangerous than things that go bump in the night." A voice said from over his shoulder, snapping Sam out of his thoughts and he jerked round to see the blonde haired Demon leaning over the seat beside him, gesturing the leftover pancakes and bacon on his plate.

"Ruby." He gasped, heart pounding from the start she'd just given him. "What do you want?"

The Demon grinned sweetly and slid into the seat opposite him. "Oh, I want what every girl wants – a nice car, a hot boyfriend, world peace... And how about some French fries?"

Sam frowned. Ordinarily he didn't have a problem with the demon hanging around – after all, she had saved their asses many time and helped Bobby fix the Colt. But he wasn't in the mood for any of her games right now and knowing she was back on the scene would only piss Dean off even more – if that were at all possible.

The waitress came over and Ruby opened the menu to order, but Sam quickly waved her away, leaving the Demon pouting.

"I don't think you came here to have breakfast with me." He snapped at her.

"Man, did you get out of the wrong side of bed or what today, Sam?" She growled back, picking up his glass of orange juice and taking a sip through the discarded straw from the table. "I was only going to order a drink. All this research on how to save your brother is thirsty work, you know..."

Putting the cup down, she looked around the diner, frowning. "And talking of Dean, where is my number one fan?"

Sam swallowed dryly. "Don't pretend you don't know, Ruby."

The Demon narrowed her eyes to match Sam's scowl. "Don't know what, Sam? Let me guess – he won the lottery and is sunning himself in Acapulco with that truck stop waitress he banged last week? Always wondered if his luck ever changed whether he'd ditch you like you ditched him all those years ago."

Sam sat back and eyed the Demon suspiciously. Her innocent act didn't seem to be an act for once and Sam sighed, slumping down in the chair. "He's in the hospital, Ruby. He got hurt... I let him get hurt."

"Did Short Bus stick his fingers in the plug socket again? You really should get some of those child cover thingies."

"Funny." Sam replied. "But I'm not in the mood. Why are you here?"

The Demon smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes. "Maybe I just missed you, Sam."

"Yeah, right." Sam replied, downing the last of his coffee. He wanted to get out of this place, get away from her. He wanted to get back to Dean, whether his brother wanted him there or not. And getting to his feet, he dropped a couple of bills on the table and headed towards the door, trying to ignore the Demon as she yelled his name.

He knew Dean didn't trust her - Dean would – could - never trust anything that wasn't 100 percent human. But desperate times called for desperate measures and she had told him many times that she could help him save Dean, she had practically promised – and although the promises of a Demon didn't really mean much, somehow he knew she was telling the truth. He could just feel it in some dark, primordial part of himself.

If only he could get his brother to believe in her too.

Striding out into the parking lot, Sam headed towards the car only to see the Demon leaning against the passenger seat.

"What are you doing, Ruby?" He sighed.

The Demon smiled smugly. "How about a road trip?"

"Get off the car. I don't have time for any of your stupid games. I gotta go see my brother."

Ruby grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past her. "This isn't a game, Sam. You don't have much time to save him, you know.

"Yeah I know!" He snapped in reply – her words sliding into his heart like an icicle. "I know."

"So what are you gonna do about it? Are you just going to let him go? Are you going to let Lillith take him?"

Sam swallowed dryly.

"You've seen people taken by hounds, Sam." She carried on. "You've seen what happened when their deal comes due. They get torn to shreds. You want that to happen to Dean?"

"Of course I don't" Sam yelled, grabbing her arm and shoving her away, hard. Then he sagged against the car, head bowed as tears welled up in his eyes. "You gotta help me save him, Ruby. Please... "

The demon edged cautiously up towards him until they were both leaning against the car.

"That's what I came here for." She whispered, slipping her arm around Sam's. "I'll help you, but you have to trust me, okay."

"Okay." Sam replied. He knew this might be the biggest mistake he had ever made, but it didn't matter. Dean was what mattered, and he was going do whatever it took to save him.


End file.
